


A Woman of Great Consequence

by Omnibard



Series: A Place Out By The Sun [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Astrals - Freeform, Early Lucis, Fix-It of Sorts, Gift Fic, Only Bahamut Likes His Plan, Solheim, The Arbiter - Freeform, genderbent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 03:33:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13966470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard
Summary: ProwlingThunder's "A Woman of No Consequence" was amazing and great and should not be altered or touched.Parts of me demanded otherwise, and she gave her encouragement to do so.





	A Woman of Great Consequence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProwlingThunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Woman of No Consequence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957482) by [ProwlingThunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder). 



The Arbiter heard the screaming further down the stone corridor and did not slow, continuing with a purposeful, long stride.  Justice was at hand.

Justice.  _Judgement._

It was two cycles of the full moon ago, when the Woman of the Chalice –the ‘ _Oracle’_ , he had to correct himself--(there were no more _Cupbearers_ , though the purpose seemed so very _similar_ ) had called him from the place between life and death.  She’d stood there stunned, unaware of what she’d done, only knowing to obey the decree given her by the Astrals.

Beyond her had stood the Glacian, wearing the face of a woman, her favorite face—the face of her husband’s high priestess.  Nat’ian did not pretend he understood this little joke between them, but he could appreciate it as an expression of their devotion to each other.  And to mankind.

Shiva had commanded him to cross this new world—this world after Solheim—and to render judgement.  _“The Draconian chooses a story mired in blood and betrayal.  It should not be so.”_

Nat’ian did not question why he ought to be the instrument she used to make clear her independent will of Bahamut.  He’d already born witness to a story of blood and betrayal, and was not eager to experience another.  He went where she bid.

Along the way, he’d learned what he’d missed over 1500 years.

Solheim had turned against the Infernian, and the Infernian had cursed mankind its treachery, poisoning his own heart.  That poison festered through him and all he’d granted the Star, and in despair, his peers and companions cast him from the living world in the hopes of saving it.  But the taint remained.  To cure it, Bahamut had set aside portions of power to cleanse it: one for succor, one for penance.  These portions were given to bloodlines that showed promise, and those bloodlines pulled the remains of the Empire of the Sun into new, fledgling kingdoms.

But something had gone wrong.

It was a dungeon.  All around him, the _Reis_ teemed, eager.  They were _often_ eager, for service brought peace—a promised end to their penance, and the hope of forever after.  If some were more eager than others, it was because their thirst for blood—the blood that beckoned from ahead, scenting the air with screams—had not been slaked in life, and their wickedness would only be cleansed through _further service_.  Ahead, the Arbiter saw the men in armor gathered before the cell where the woman groaned and wailed her birthing pains.

With another step, there was another wail—smaller, harsher.  The wail of a newborn entering the world of sunlight and bloodshed.  Nat’ian did not slow.  The story spread out before him like a carpet as he read the hearts and souls of those before him.

There, the men who followed blindly the word of their lord, in fear and trembling.  In ignorance they would do anything, and turn their eyes away from this tragedy.

There, the woman too frightened to think beyond obeisance, not knowing the circumstance.  She wants to go and weep into the skirts of her mother, and she will when this is done.

There, another woman, knowing only that the lord gave commands and spoke convincingly of a great wrong.  She longs for the dizzying embrace of strong spirits with a thirst that does not ever quench.

There, the woman who bore the child into the world, not knowing how, but believing stridently it to be the will of the Astrals, for she carries the promise of sunlight—they told her so—and the sacrifice of her body is too little to offer for the salvation of man and the Star, but the little child… the babe is _too much_.

There, the babe, with a soul shrouded in the fury of the Infernian, the poison that slew him before his kin laid him to rest.  Nat’ian’s guts twisted at the sight of him, something like love and pity and hate and hope all bound together.  The same taint soaks the flesh and spirit of his mother, but she is not _born of it._

There, the man who envisions himself shutting away the darkness in favor of championing the light _himself_.  If he can seize the portion of penance by force this way, then his avarice could be satisfied and his vanity affirmed—proven before the world.  He does not notice when the Arbiter steps behind him, despite the shouts of his guards whose blades are deflected by the _Reis_ , so eager for service and blood, for he is busy taking the babe.

The time of Judgement is come.  Nat’ian’s blade thrusts through Izunia Lucis Caelum’s back, carving effortlessly through stomach and intestine, sliding through liver—he dare not strike higher and risk harming the babe—before twisting free in a great, rending wound to the side.

“Izunia Lucis Caelum,” The words are by rote, but his voice holds the viciousness of personal vindication that is usually not present—should _not_ be present… but irrevocably _is_ , “know that you stand before the Astrals of this Star as judged.  Your measure has been found _wanting_.”

The man dies without understanding a word, though.  Nat’ian has learned to _comprehend_ the new language of this kingdom, in pieces, from his travel across it, thanks to the _Reis_ who guided him.  But he’d no need to _speak it_.  The spirits heed his will and understand his words because it is his portion that they do, and no mere language barrier could defy such a fate.  On such a singular quest as he’d been—with the hour of judgement pre-determined and an appointment to _keep_ \--there’d been no reason to stop and speak with the people.  No, these were the first in this new world that the Arbiter interacted with—the Oracle notwithstanding-- and it was with steel and judgement.

The Arbiter slides in neatly beside the dying, falling lord, and scoops the newborn from his failing grasp with one hand, naked, bloody blade still in the other.  Izunia gurgles something, but Nat’ian pays him no mind and stays his hand from the second, merciful stroke of death.

It is cruel, he knows, but Nat’ian feels too much fury to be an instrument of mercy.  He can see what the Draconian has wrought, and it sickens him: in exchange for their service, those who carry the portions given, escape the penance of the Arbiter.  They will never walk in his wake as _Reis_.  The Oracles of _Nox Fleuret_ await glory in the realm between life and death, and the Kings of _Lucis Caelum_ gather in the Crystal he has wrought, until its power is great enough to burn away the poison of the Infernian’s heart-sickness.

They do not face justice.  They have been deemed _beyond Judgement_.

But _only_ by Bahamut.  That was clear by the Glacian’s intervention.  The wickedness of Izunia could not be permitted simply because the Draconian would suffer it for the sake of a _neat solution_ or the pleasure of proclaiming that _his solution_ succeeded where the passion of Ifrit had failed in Solheim.

The Astrals, Nat’ian knew, were allies and kin, but also competitors for the favor of the Creators Beyond.  Whoever, or _whatever_ they were.

The midwife women scream, one tries to run, but the Arbiter blocks her way with the point of his sword, “You.  Find… Gilgamesh.” The name is whispered to him helpfully by one of the _Reis_.  “Bring here.”

She goes, and he sends a few spirits after her—both to ensure she does as commanded, and to slay anyone who might try and prevent her.  His power can reach that far, he is certain, since he has used so little.

The mother is staring at him, near senseless with pain, bloodloss and shock.  “You.” Nat’ian commands the other midwife, “Heal her.”

The infant screeches in his hold, cold and surrounded by the strangeness of a merciless world beyond the womb.  He is human and not human, and even the Arbiter cannot see the path laid out for his fate—for his portion is to judge the souls of men and guide them to forever after per the law of the Astrals.

The other midwife is busy with cloths, trying to see if the bleeding has stopped.  Nat’ian knows that the mother—the Lucis Caelum upon which the portion of penance now rests—is not dying.

Is beyond death.

 _Cannot_ die.

Such is the furious, hateful taint of the Infernian upon mankind which betrayed him.  Nat’ian trembles, and does not know what to do.

For a moment, he is not the Arbiter, appointed by the Astrals to render judgement.  Between one heartbeat and another, he is just a young man, born in a city that no longer was, from an age long past, in a world no longer truly his own, among people who did not know him.  He was only a young man placed to stand where no other men could stand, between the rebellion of men and the furious wrath of the gods, beholden to both, and accepted wholly by neither.

Ardyn Lucis Caelum is Undying, bearing the curse of the Infernian, and her babe in his arm is a product of that curse, and they both could carry the portion of penance and so perhaps both were perhaps beyond Judgement.  Nat’ian does not know what to do—how to rid the Star of the taint—but he can only do what he has been appointed.

He cannot Judge her.  So he cuts her bonds and places the infant in her arms—granting her mercy he withheld from her brother.  She takes the babe, and great tears of grief and relief both pour down her face.

From here, somehow, would come the King of Light.  It would not be the story the Draconian would have _permitted_ , but Nat’ian could only hope it would _satisfy_ his ire.

In the end, even the Arbiter was to be judged, and his judgement was at the seat of the flame, the earth, the sea, the ice, the storm, and the sword.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Nat'ian, the Arbiter, is my OC and should not be used without permission.
> 
>  
> 
> Got questions? Want to talk about it? [Here's your mic! ](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
